


Dismal Kringle

by gardnerhill



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humor, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:53:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: Some people aren’t cut out for seasonal department-store work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the December 11, 2016 Open Post #3 for Wadvent Calendar, **Recycle Title: take the title of a favorite carol or holiday film and use it as your inspiration.**

“Jason.” The white-bearded man on the giant plaster sleigh addressed the nine-year-old standing before him. “You wish to acquire the video game Captain Trollsmasher IV, and a Star Wars-themed set of action figures.”

The cynical sneer fell off the boy’s face. He gaped at this man who knew his heart’s desire. “You really are him!”

The man in red shook his head. “Merely a highly perceptive person dressed as Father Christmas, or I would be if I were in a London shopping mall instead of an American one. And I hardly require perception to gauge most children’s requests, since 90% of them are for the current heavily-marketed ‘must-have’ items of the year. Combine this department store’s touting of said items for the past six months with your incessant diet of television commercials – and my perception further aided by the Captain Trollsmasher II T-shirt you currently wear – _et voila,_ a perfect miniature consumer is born. Congratulations. Next.”

#

“…and a Ponydream House, and a Ponydream Rocking Pony Chair, and a Ponydream Corral, and a Ponydream Castle, anna Ponydream Magic Cave–“

St. Nicholas interrupted her. “Further enumeration is unnecessary, Dakota, as the trend is unmistakable. If the company manufactures one you ought also to request a Ponydream Racetrack and Betting Parlour. Highly educational – teaches five-year-old girls and horrific thirtysomething men about statistics and percentages. Now as you are within seconds of urinating on my knee your guardian should take you back in tow. Next.”

#

“You’re a big fake!” a boy yelled, laughing.

“Quite correct,” Pere Noel responded. “Your parents have been lying to you all these years. They are also deeply disappointed in your grades, and your father in particular wishes you were better at sport. Next.”

#

“I can deduce that you are far too young for this charade.” Babbo Natale had to raise his voice to be heard over the hysterical screaming of the two-year-old thrashing in her haggard mother’s arms. “Madame, might I suggest you save yourself a good deal of trouble by informing Madison _now_ that there is no magic man who lives at the North Pole and makes toys for Christian children. Next.”

#

“Can I have a word with you?”

The old saint winced at the steel underlying the pleasant tone of the elf that materialized at his left side, clad in green down to a fabulous set of high-heeled boots, and who bore a most un-elfin glare.

“Watson, I am continuing to keep the Jensen Jewelers in my line of sight to see if this mall’s customary right jolly old toy-pimp was indeed able to I.D. the robbers as he insists.”

“What’th a toy-pimp?” lisped the toddler on Sherlock’s knee.

“Sinterklaas, at your service.” Sherlock shook the child’s hand. “I’ve no doubt your family is appraised of your ‘gimme’ list by now, so you will not need my help in acquiring your current Holy Grails on the 25th. You may go.”

“Kay.” The kid slipped off his knee and ran back to a man, clearly the father, who was glaring daggers at Sherlock.

Joan Watson folded her arms. “You’ve been sending half those kids away crying.”

“It’s hard to tell the ones crying because of me from the ones who have hysteria as their default mode at this time of year, with this assortment of stimuli. In any case, all I’m doing is telling the truth, because I feel that to lie to a child is a greater sin than the theft of a few lumps of crystallised charcoal from yon jeweller’s store.”

Watson shook her head at her unrepentant partner. “You really are a bad Santa.”


End file.
